


asgardian alcohol is not liquid courage

by Daecyan_Shikoba



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Not Beta Read, Not Canon Compliant, Originally Posted on Tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-25 06:33:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10758687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daecyan_Shikoba/pseuds/Daecyan_Shikoba
Summary: it just lowers your inhibitionsa prompt fill over on tumblr:4. A Drunken Kiss





	asgardian alcohol is not liquid courage

**Author's Note:**

> cross posted from my tumblr.  
> originally this was two separate posts, the prompt fill and the self-indulgence of someone who couldn't leave it lie  
> you can check them tumblr posts out [here](http://daeshikoba.tumblr.com/post/159904039386/4-a-drunken-kiss-for-buckytony) and [here](http://daeshikoba.tumblr.com/post/160087960066/hey-look-its-that-continuation-of).

* * *

Bucky watches the party going on around him, half amused and half wary, nursing a glass of some mixed drink Natasha had called a fuzzy navel. It has orange juice in it. He’s pretty sure she’s fucking with him, but it tastes pretty good even if the alcohol is doing nothing for him.

Across the room he can see Steve playing pool with Tony and Clint, and he idly wonders who’s winning. He also wonders how exactly that’s working. Is it Steve versus Tony and Clint, or Steve and Tony versus Clint, or Tony versus Steve and Clint? He can’t actually tell, from this distance.

It’s entirely likely Tony came up with his own version that allows for Tony versus Steve versus Clint. Or, he muses as he sips at his drink, it could be like a tourney. Winner faces the odd man out.

He should probably stop thinking about Tony, even if he does look good in those jeans.

“I see you have partaken of Lady Natasha’s bar tending skills,” Thor says jovially, joining Bucky on the couch. “Tell me, James, does the drink affect you as such?”

“Uh…not really?” Bucky replies hesitantly, eyeing Thor suspiciously. He’d only just met Thor a few days prior, and he’s still not sure what to make of him. Barton had described him as a giant puppy, and while Bucky can see that he can also see the danger lurking underneath. Thor isn’t to be underestimated, though he should be safe enough so long as he considers Bucky a friend.

Which, apparently, he does. Purely on the basis of his connection to Steve.

Thor bows his head. “Aye, as I had suspected. Steven too is unaffected by your Midgardian brews. Would you care to try some of mine? I brought it from Asgard. It has proven to affect Steven, once upon a time.”

He holds out a gilded, silver flask, and Bucky blinks at it, considering. He hasn’t been drunk since before the war, since before Steve found him looking like a fucking warrior angel to Bucky’s torture-addled brain, and, honestly, Bucky kind of misses it.

“Thanks,” he mutters, and takes it.

An hour and a half later, Bucky’s not sure if he should have or not.

This isn’t how he _remembers_  being drunk felt, but it’s not really like he remembers a whole lot of his life Before clearly for that to mean anything anyway. Maybe he’s always been a maudlin drunk? Or maybe so much has happened to him that he can’t be anything other than maudlin.

Maaaaauuuudlin.

“Buck? You okay there?” Steve asks, voice concerned, sitting next to Bucky on the couch.

Bucky blinks, twisting to look at him. “M’fine,” he says, turning to look around the room again. “Thor gave me, um, something?”

“Aw, jeez,” Steve chuckles, listing to the side to bump his shoulder into Bucky’s. “I should’ve warned you.”

“Tony,” Bucky mumbles, frowning. “Where’d he go?”

“Tony? He’s by the bar with Bruce and Clint, why? Is your arm bugging you?”

“No,” Bucky frowns, shaking his head. “No, jus’ - jus’ curious.”

Steve hums, looking relieved and a little amused. Steve always looks upset when Bucky’s arm bothers him, like if he could he’d shoulder Bucky’s pain for him. It makes something fond and exasperated settle in Bucky’s gut.

“If you say so,” Steve smiles.

“I do say so,” Bucky mutters belligerently, watching him from the corner of his eye suspiciously. After a moment, he sighs and sags back against the couch. “Have I always been a maudlin drunk?”

“Sometimes,” Steve shrugs, face scrunching up in thought. “It depended on how you were feelin’ before you got drunk. There was this one time, when we were fifteen, that you just showed up with a bottle of your da’s whiskey determined to forget this girl, I think her name was Maggie? You were sweet on her, _real_ sweet, wanted to take her dancing and court her proper, you used to say.

“She ended up stepping out with some guy from Manhattan,” Steve sighs. “You spent the night talking about how perfect she was and how of course she found a snazzy fella from Manhattan. I kind of wanted to strangle you.”

Bucky hums, and tilts his head back to stare up at the ceiling. A stray thought occurs to him, then, and he considers it for half a second before rolling his head to the side and looking Steve right in the eye. “Did I ever say, before, if I liked fellas, too?”

Steve blinks, clearly startled, and watches Bucky almost warily before blowing out a breath. “No, you never said anything about it, if you did. It wasn’t really anything you would have; that’s not anything anyone really talked about. It was illegal, you know?”

“You’re supposed to be my best friend, why _wouldn’t_ I tell you if I liked dick too?” Bucky demands.

“Ah,” Steve clears his throat, face turning red. “Same reason I never told you… Probably to protect me? If I didn’t know I couldn’t get in trouble for it, either.”

“Hmph,” Bucky scowls, rolling his head back to stare up at the ceiling. “I guess.”

“Why d’you ask, Buck? Is - Ah, do you need to talk about it? Your, um, your sexuality?” Steve asks, sounding - and looking, when Bucky glances back over - uncomfortable.

He processes Steve’s words, fully, then, and he jerks up. “What do you _mean_  you never told me?”

“Uh…”

“Jesus Christ,” Bucky mutters, and rubs a hand over his face. “Guess that answers that question.”

“What question?”

“Say, do you know if Tony likes men?” Bucky asks, mind already abandoning the rest of the conversation.

“…Bucky,” Steve says, watching him in bemusement. “I can’t tell you that.”

“Why not?” Bucky doesn’t pout. He _doesn’t_.

“Because it’s not my place to say,” Steve shrugs. “Nor is it my business. You wanna know, you gotta find out for yourself.”

“Good point,” Bucky nods, and shoves himself to his feet. “I should do that.”

“Buck? Where’re you going?” Steve calls, staring in shock for a moment as Bucky hops over the back of the couch and stalks over to where Clint, Bruce, and Tony are all standing by the bar. “Buck!”

Bucky ignores him, because he’s _on a mission_. He thinks Tony might like him. He hopes, anyway, and he’s seen the way Tony looks at him sometimes.

“Hey there, freezer pop,” Tony greets, grinning, though it falters a little as Bucky marches closer. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Bucky replies, coming to a stop right in front of him. Tony’s raises his brows, looking a little confused, and sets his drink on the bar. Bucky cocks his head to the side, raking his eyes over Tony’s face, looking for - Well, for _something_ , he guesses. He’s not sure.

Whatever it is, though, he sees it, and he lifts a hand to cup Tony’s cheek. Tony’s eyes widen, mouth opening to say something that gets swallowed by Bucky’s mouth fitting over his. Voices start shouting, mixing together, but Bucky doesn’t give a fuck because he’s kissing Tony and Tony’s mouth is as soft and sweet as Bucky thought it’d be.

“Holy _shit_!”

“Buck!”

Tony kisses him back, for a moment, his hands curling into the fabric of Bucky’s shirt, before he breaks the kiss with a soft little gasp. He blinks up at Bucky, a half dozen emotions in his eyes that Bucky’s too drunk to get a proper read of. After a couple heartbeats he smiles sadly and gently pushes Bucky away.

“Well, that was unexpected,” Tony croaks, then clears his throat. “I see Thor gave you some of that Asgardian booze.”

“Normal hooch doesn’t do it for me,” Bucky says, frowning in confusion because what does that have to do with anything?

“I know,” Tony huffs, his mouth twitching into a small smile. “You should go lay down before you do anything else you regret.”

“What the hell’s that s’pposed to mean?” he demands, a little affronted at the implication that he could ever regret kissing Tony.

Tony startles, and clears his throat again, looking uncertain and kind of lost. “James, you’re _drunk_. You’re drunk and you just kissed me.”

“What, and I’m s’pposed to regret kissin’ you?”

“I - Well, I don’t… You - You’re drunk, James,” Tony stammers, beginning to look a little panicked. “You’ve never - You haven’t ever -”

“I’ve wanted to kiss you since the first time you worked on my arm,” Bucky snaps, feeling frustrated. “I’ve wanted to kiss you every goddamn day since that moment and you’re tellin’ me I’m s’pposed to _regret kissin’ you now_?”

“Bucky,” Steve says gently, resting his hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Give Tony a little space, okay?”

Bucky blinks then, startled to find he’s backed Tony against the bar, and suddenly shame floods through him as he meets Tony’s eyes again. What the _hell_  has he just done? He takes several steps backwards, shoving his hands into his pockets, and glances nervously around the room.

Everyone but Steve seems to have disappeared, which was kind of them, leaving Bucky to face his humiliation without an audience.

“Okay,” Tony says, voice rough, and takes a breath. “Okay, James? Come talk to me after you’ve sobered up yeah? We can try this again without the alcohol and confusion.”

“Try this - ? You wanna - ?” Bucky trails off, feeling suddenly light.

Tony smiles, small and a little shy and it steals the breath from Bucky’s lungs. “Yeah, I’d like to, if you remember when you wake up.”

“I’ll remember,” he declares, certain of this. There’s no way he could ever forget kissing Tony.

“I hope so,” Tony says, still smiling, and turns to Steve. “Take care of him?”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, laughter in his voice. “About time, by the way.”

“You shush up,” Tony grumbles, without heat, and moves over to Bucky. “Find me in the morning and we’ll talk?”

“Absolutely,” Bucky vows, smiling broadly at him.

Tony smiles back and pushes up onto his toes to press a kiss to Bucky’s cheek. “Here’s to hoping your hangover isn’t terrible.”

“I’ll take care of him,” Steve laughs, wrapping a hand around Bucky’s wrist and tugging him. “C’mon, lover boy, the sooner you sleep the sooner you can talk to Tony again.”

“Stevie,” Bucky whispers as he follows him to the elevator, “Stevie, he likes me back!”

“You’re such a fuckin’ jerk,” Steve sighs fondly, and presses the button for their floor.

* * *

When Bucky wakes up, his mouth is dry and tastes fucking disgusting, and the light shining in through his window is agony. He groans and rolls away from the light, and, of course, right off his bed. He lays there for a long moment, bemoaning his existence, before shoving himself up enough to grab the glass of water Steve was nice enough to leave him.

He vaguely remembers coming to bed last night. Mostly he remembers the Gatorade Steve had made him drink. Clearly he should’ve had a second bottle of it, _Christ_.

_“Drink this,” Steve orders, once he’s dumped Bucky on his bed and helped him with his shoes. “Clint says it helps.”_

_“What is it?” Bucky asks as he takes the bottle. He makes a face as he takes a drink, and he pulls it away from his mouth to squint at the label. “Tastes weird.”_

_“It’s Gatorade,” Steve laughs. “Grape.”_

_“Grape? This doesn’t taste like grape,” Bucky mutters, then shrugs and drinks some more of it. “Not bad, still doesn’t taste like a grape.”_

_“Artificial flavoring never does,” Steve sighs. “Now, go to sleep. You’re gonna feel like shit in the morning, pal.”_

_“Gee, thanks,” he grumbles, handing the empty bottle to Steve and flopping backwards. The last thing he remembers is Steve setting a glass of water on his bedside table and calling him a punk._  

“Feelin’ like shit was an underestimation you asshole,” Bucky says to no one in particular, and gets up. He heads for the bathroom and the shower because god _damn,_ if he doesn’t wash the stench of alcohol off he’s going to hurl.

He finds Steve in the kitchen afterwards, wandering out in sweats and a towel slung over his shoulders to catch the water from his hair, in the middle of fixing breakfast. The scent of bacon frying in a skillet makes Bucky’s stomach lurch, and right then and there he vows to never _ever_  drink anything Thor gives him again. Jesus Christ.

“Mornin’ Buck,” Steve says, loudly, grinning like the little fucking shit he is. “How’re you feelin’?”

“Fuck you,” Bucky mutters as he goes for the coffee.

“Drink some more water first, Bucky, it’ll help,” Steve chuckles, shutting off the burner and plating the bacon with his eggs and toast. “How much do you remember from last night?”

Bucky grunts, ignoring Steve’s advice, and practically inhales half of his coffee in one swig. It burns all the way down, and clashes horribly with the toothpaste and mouthwash he’d used to get the dead-critter taste out of his mouth, but it distracts him from the last tendrils of his headache and that’s all he really cares about. Steve rolls his eyes, whacks his shoulder as he passes, and Bucky flips him off.

“I remember you bein’ a little shit,” Bucky mumbles, frowning. “Grape Gatorade, and - Uh.”

Steve’s smirking, eyes twinkling with poorly concealed mischief. “And?”

“I fuckin’ kissed Tony last night!” He hisses, shocked. “I _kissed Tony_?”

“Yep,” Steve agrees, looking smug, and sits down to eat. “That you did. In front of everyone. Shocked the hell out of Clint. I don’t think I’ve ever seen his eyes get that big, and that’s counting the time Tony handed him the keys to the Quinjet and told him not to break it.”

“I kissed Tony!” Bucky squeaks.

“You did,” Steve nods, meeting his eyes. “He kissed back, before stopping you because he thought you were drunk. Well, you _were_  drunk, but he was worried you’d regret kissing him.”

“Why would I regret that?!”

“Yeah you said pretty much the same thing last night, before declaring that you’d wanted to kiss him every day since that first time he worked on your arm,” he replies, definitely getting too much enjoyment out of this.

“What the fuck, Steve?” Bucky demands shrilly.

Steve sighs, kicking out one of the chairs. “Sit down before you fall on your ass, Buck. If it makes you feel better, he kissed your cheek goodnight and told you to come find him this morning. If you remembered kissing him.”

“How could I forget kissing him?”

“You said that, too,” Steve snorts. “Relax, Bucky, and eat some breakfast. Give yourself a little bit, then go find Tony and ask him out properly. Otherwise I’ll kick your ass and then hand you over to Rhodes and Pepper.”

Bucky groans, but starts fixing himself a bowl of oatmeal. Steve nods, apparently satisfied, and starts reading his newspaper. _If Tony were here, he’d be teasing Steve about that_ , Bucky thinks fondly as he waits for the milk to heat up.

“So,” Steve starts once Bucky’s oatmeal is ready and he’s sitting across from Steve at the table, “I have a question about something you said last night.”

“I get the feeling I said a lot of stuff last night,” Bucky mutters, scowling when Steve laughs.

“You sure did,” he confirms, looking far too amused. “And I havta admit, that’s not how I thought it’d go, gettin’ drunk'n'askin’ if you’d ever said anything about likin’ fellas when we were kids and then kissin’ Tony in front of everyone.”

Bucky glares at him. “Yeah well, were you plannin’ on tellin’ me _you_  like fellas, too, or was that just an accidental thing because I shocked you?”

Steve flushes, much to Bucky’s satisfaction, and huffs out an exasperated breath. “Eventually,” he admits, “but on a related note, after that you said something about that answering some question you never actually asked.”

“What question?” Bucky frowns, takes another bite of his oatmeal, and watches Steve wave his hand around.

“How should I know? All you said was ‘well that answers that question’ and then asked me if Tony liked men!”

“Huh,” Bucky blinks, thinking. “I dunno, pal.”

Steve sighs, face scrunching up, but shrugs, letting it drop. He’s learned not to press, hard and painful as that lesson had been for him. Bucky understands, really, but Steve’s too persistent sometimes, in ways he doesn’t always realize until it’s too late for anything more than shouting and sullen silences. Bucky guesses he could try being a little more willing to talk it out, probably, but Steve’s an asshole when he wants to be and Bucky can’t _make_  himself remember something.

“I think Natasha got a recording,” Steve offers after a couple seconds, and Bucky feels his face go hot. “You weren’t all that subtle about walking up to Tony. You actually kinda stalked up to him, like the way you walk when you’re, ah, you know?”

“Jesus Christ,” Bucky groans, sinking further into his seat. “How badly did I scare Tony?”

Steve shakes his head, mouth quirked in a wry smile. “This is Tony you’re talking about,” he points out, “he was worried about you, I think, but he definitely wasn’t afraid.”

“I’m never drinking anything Thor gives me again,” Bucky vows, scowling down at his oatmeal.

“Aw c'mon, Buck, it wasn’t that bad,” Steve says encouragingly. “I’ve never seen Tony flustered like that. It was actually pretty cute; you had him trippin’ all over his words until he managed to compose himself.”

“Yeah, right,” Bucky says, skeptical. “I ain’t ever seen him flustered." 

Steve rolls his eyes. "Yeah you have, you just don’t know it. Tony’s generally pretty good at hiding it. You caught him off guard last night, though.”

Bucky grumbles wordlessly, shoving another spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth instead of responding. Steve sighs, looking exasperated again, and kicks his shin under the table. Bucky yelps, bangs his knee into the bottom of the table when he jerks his leg away from Steve’s feet, and scowls at him.

“Don’t fuck this up, Bucky,” Steve says, voice serious and hard, staring Bucky down. “You’re my brother and I love you but Tony’s been hurt too many times for me to just not say something. If you’re not serious, or if you’re just experimenting because it’s safer now or something, or if you’re just looking for a bit of fun, you need to find someone else. I won’t let Tony be hurt.”

The 'again’ was loud and glaring, and Bucky wonders what exactly happened. Steve’s always been protective of his friends, Bucky remembers that clearer than most everything else, but this seems a little beyond that. He wants to ask, but it’s really none of his business. Nor is it right to ask Steve when it clearly involves Tony too.

“I wouldn’t ever intentionally hurt Tony,” he says instead, trying not to feel a bit offended by the implied accusation in Steve’s little speech. He knows Steve’s just trying to look out for Tony, and really, he’s glad to see that Tony has people on his side.

“Good,” Steve declares with a pleased nod. “Then you better talk to him today.”

“Christ, I will, relax your grip on your knickers,” he sighs.

Steve snorts, chokes on his bite of eggs, which Bucky takes a petty sort of glee in, and throws his wadded up napkin at Bucky, face turning a hilarious shade of red. Bucky smirks at him when he catches the napkin, and gets up to rinse out his bowl. Steve mutters something under his breath, sounding fond and disgruntled at the same time.

“Better hurry up,” he quips, glancing at the clock on the stove. “You’re gonna be late for your morning run with Wilson.”

“Sam had to go to DC,” Steve says. “But you wouldn’t know that, would you? Too busy mooning after Tony while he was telling us.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Rogers. I don’t moon,” Bucky replies, shooting Steve a look over his shoulder. “That’s all you, buddy.”

“Uh-huh,” Steve grins, eyes full of mischief. “I’m sorry, I forgot. You _pine_.”

Bucky chooses to be the bigger person and goes to his room to grab a shirt and dump his towel before heading for the elevator, flipping him off when Steve laughs.

* * *

“Hey JARVIS, where’s Tony?” Bucky asks once he’s in the relative safety of the elevator.

“Sir is currently in his workshop,” JARVIS replies. “Would you like to go there?”

“Uh yeah? Wait, h-has, um, has he eaten?”

“I suspect Sir wouldn’t be opposed if you were to bring him something to eat,” JARVIS says, which is answer enough for Bucky, really.

“Communal floor first, then, please,” Bucky requests, and JARVIS takes him down to the communal floor quickly.

Luckily no one else is there when Bucky steps off the elevator, and he darts into the kitchen. He’ll probably always question the need for a communal kitchen on top of the kitchens on everyone’s floors, but he has to admit that it comes in handy. He rifles through the the pantry and refrigerator, pulling out everything he needs to make blueberry pancakes.

“Heeeeey,” Clint calls, coming into the kitchen a few minutes later as if summoned by the scent of pancakes. “You’re making enough for everyone, right?”

“No,” Bucky grouses, turning his head to glower at him.

“Aw, Barnes,” he whines, but goes for the pantry. “They smell so good!”

“You’ll just have to suffer,” Bucky says, flipping the first pancake onto a plate. “If you try to steal that, I will stab you.”

“Someone’s grouchy this morning,” Clint complains, pouring himself a bowl of cereal. “Wake up on the wrong side of a hangover?”

Bucky grunts, pouring the batter for a second pancake. To his surprise, Clint talks about a new target practice game he came up with the night before as Bucky cooks, explaining the rules around mouthfuls of cereal instead of teasing him about last night. Natasha wanders in halfway through the fourth pancake.

“No,” Bucky declares before she can say anything, ignoring Clint’s choked off laugh-yelp, and flips the pancake.

“I think they’re for Tony,” Clint stage whispers, and Bucky feels his face grow warm.

Was he that obvious?

Probably. He was probably that obvious. He bites back a resigned sigh and flips Clint off without looking.

“They better be ‘I’m ass over elbows in love with you please let me kiss you and date you’ pancakes,” she says lightly.

“They’re ‘none of anyone but Tony’s fucking business’ pancakes,” he shoots back.

“You’re no fun,” Clint pouts.

“I will switch your coffee to decaf when you’re not looking,” Bucky threatens, and Clint makes an outraged noise.

“You wouldn’t dare!” he shouts, pointing his spoon at Bucky. “If you do, I’ll give it to Tony and blame you.”

Bucky plates the last pancake and turns to smile at Clint, the one he knows everyone finds unnerving. “Tony knows I’d never betray him like that.”

Nat smirks, quirking a brow at Clint. “He has a point,” she says. Clint squawks in outrage, throwing his hand in the air, and Nat reaches out to flick his forehead. 

“Steve hasn’t left for his run,” Bucky informs them as he cleans up and grabs the bottle of syrup. “Don’t let him catch you two fucking in the kitchen.”

“We won’t,” Nat replies, eyes going half-lidded. “Bruce is still asleep.”

“More than I needed to know,” he mutters, and sets the plate and syrup on a tray. He carries the tray over to the elevator, ignoring Clint’s snickering and Natasha’s muttered warning, and JARVIS opens the door without prompting, because he’s clearly the best.

“Don’t forget the condoms!” Clint shouts a split second before the door shuts behind Bucky.

“Fucker,” Bucky huffs, flushing and tightening his hold on the tray.

A minute later, he’s standing in front of Tony’s workshop, his stomach clenching and heart racing. Through the glass walls Bucky watches Tony work, his hands manipulating a holographic model of the quinjet, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he squints speculatively. He’s _gorgeous_  and Bucky wants that mouth on his, those hands on his body and his hands on Tony.

He takes a fortifying breath, reminding himself of what Steve said, that Tony had kissed his cheek and told Bucky to come find him. This will go well, it’s going to be _good_. It’ll be fucking perfect.

Bucky shifts his hold on the tray to free up a hand, and he knocks twice against the door before putting in the pass code Tony had give him a few months prior. At first it had been to give him a safe place to hide, when everything was overwhelming and too much, or the nightmares were keeping him up. Now, he spends just as much time in the workshop with Tony as Steve does, though where Steve will read or draw Bucky helps Tony out if he can.

Tony waves his hand and the quinjet model blinks out. He turns to face Bucky, looking nervous but happy to see him. Bucky holds up the tray, smiling when Tony’s face lights up.

“You made me pancakes?” he asks, moving to clear off one of the worktables.

“Yes,” Bucky confirms, joining Tony at the table and setting the tray down. “They’re blueberry pancakes.”

“You made me blueberry pancakes? Why did you make me blueberry pancakes? Are you trying to bribe me?”

Bucky huffs and leans against the table, crossing his arms over his chest and tilting his chin up. “I don’t have any reason to bribe you, if I remember last night right, and if Steve can be trusted.”

To his shock, Tony blushes and dips his chin, smiling shyly down at the pancakes. “What exactly do you remember from last night?” He sounds nervous; nervous and hopeful and prepared for disappointment.

“Well,” Bucky drawls, crossing his ankles and letting his gaze move up and down Tony’s body. “I remember Thor giving me some Asgardian hooch. I kinda remember askin’ Stevie what kind of drunk I was before. I remember kissin’ you. That was my favorite part.”

Tony swallows, tongue darting out to lick his lips, and taps his fingers against the edge of the tray. “I didn’t know you were interested in men,” he says, glancing up to meet Bucky’s gaze.

“To be fair, nobody did,” Bucky shrugs, smiling wryly. “Steve might’ve suspected, but he didn’t know. I guess I never told him, and now? It didn’t seem like it mattered if he knew or not.”

“I didn’t think… I never thought you’d be interested in _me_ ,” Tony admits, letting his gaze drop back down to the pancakes. “Growing up, watching the reels and hearing the stories Aunt Peggy told, I kind of always figured that if you’d be interested in any man, it’d be Steve, and I’m definitely no _Steve_.”

Bucky frowns. “I can’t tell if I’m supposed to be concerned about your self esteem or if I should be concerned you thought I’d be interested in Steve.”

“I’m just saying,” Tony snorts, and shuffles over to snag a chair, dragging it over to sit down and start in on the pancakes. “There’re historians speculating on whether or not you and Steve were lovers. He disobeyed direct orders and stormed a Hydra base by himself to save you without knowing for sure if you were alive or if he’d be bringing back a body.”

“There was never anything between me'n'Stevie,” Bucky sighs, “I never thought I had a chance, so whatever feelings I _mighta_ _had_ I let die long before that idiot became a science experiment.”

“What about now? You could have a chance now,” Tony murmurs as he meticulously cuts his pancakes into small pieces. “He fought every government that wanted you arrested until they pardoned you. He searched for you every moment of his day he could spare.”

Bucky sighs again. He knows what Tony’s doing, he thinks, and if he’s wrong he’ll eat his hat. “Doll,” he says, “I’m not interested in Steve. I love 'im, just not like that. I’m too far gone on you to notice anybody else.”

Tony swallows, licks his lips, and exhales shakily, carefully setting the knife and fork down before bodily turning to face Bucky. “I don’t think anyone has ever worded it like that before…I don’t think anyone’s ever said it so bluntly. Pepper and I never - We had other ways of expressing our affection. She was the first person who ever told me she loved me - romantically, to be clear.

"I’m getting off track, shit. Look, what I’m trying to say is if we do this, there’s. I’m a done deal, James. If you’re not looking for something serious here, we can’t - I can’t - so… So, if you’re just looking for some fun -”

Bucky cuts Tony off with a finger pressed to his lips, and whatever Tony was trying to say dies in his throat. Once he’s sure Tony won’t start talking again he moves his hand to cup Tony’s cheek, stroking his thumb along the line of his cheek bone. Tony stares, wide-eyed, and let’s out a shuddering breath.

“Sweetheart,” he says gently, cataloging the way Tony’s face flushes just the slightest bit for later exploration, and reaches up with his other hand to cradle Tony’s face. “I wanna go steady with you, take you to dinner and maybe go dancing sometime. I wanna call you my fella, and be yours. I want you, wanna be with you, for as long as you’ll have me.”

Tony inhales sharply, looking more vulnerable than Bucky’s ever seen him. It makes something clench tight in his chest, squeezing around his heart and lungs like a vise. He swallows thickly, and bends down to press a kiss to Tony’s forehead, squeezing his eyes shut and inhaling the scent of hot metal and motor oil.

“This was not where I thought this was going to go,” Tony rasps, when Bucky straightens.

“You didn’t think I’d want something serious,” Bucky says, and bites down on the reflexive anger because it’s _not_ for Tony and he certainly doesn’t deserve it.

“I’m not good for serious relationships,” he replies, looking a little lost. “Pepper’s the only one who wanted something serious with me, and in the end it didn’t work. I’m good for a fun time or two, but not much else, and I’m too old for that.”

Bucky’s pretty sure he’d fight every single person who made Tony think that way about himself. He’d even save some for Ms. Potts, Rhodes, Steve, and the other Avengers. He was generous like that.

“Well, I can’t make you think differently, but I disagree,” he declares, sweeping his hands up into Tony’s hair and combing his fingers through the soft curls. “You got me for as long as you’ll have me, so you might as well resign yourself to it now.”

Tony huffs a small, breathless laugh, and glances to the side. “My pancakes are getting cold.”

Bucky accepts the obvious change in subject with a light chuckle, and he steps back, gesturing at the plate. “Well don’t let all my hard work go to waste, then,” he teases softly, and moves to lean on the table once more.

Really, he hadn’t expected to actually to discuss things. Not that he’s complaining. After everything, he prefers to go into things knowing what he’s getting into. Which, of course, Tony knows.

He realizes this talk was Tony trying to make Bucky comfortable, and that makes something warm and lovely twist through him. Tony, he’s noticed, is not in the habit of talking about his feelings or making his vulnerabilities visible. Bucky can’t speak for Rhodes or Pepper, but he knows Steve rarely gets glimpses of Tony’s soft underbelly.

Tony is serious about him; just as serious as Bucky is, he’d wager.

* * *

“Would you be interested in going to the National History Museum with me this afternoon?” Tony asks a little while later, after he’s finished the pancakes and Bucky’s washed the plate and silverware in the industrial sink tucked away at the back of the workshop, unwilling to leave Tony just yet.

Bucky lowers his book to look at Tony, who’s back to fiddling with the quinjet model. He can’t actually see Tony’s face, which is a shame, but the way Tony’s head is ducked makes Bucky think he’s still bracing for disappointment. It makes something protective surge up in him, familiar yet not simultaneously.

“I would _love_  to go with you,” he replies, marking his page and setting the book aside before standing up and walking over to Tony. “It’d be my honor, baby.”

Tony turns to face him, smiling that rare, beautiful smile Bucky’s only seen a handful of times before. It’s his favorite; steals his breath and punches him in the sternum, fills him with such warmth and happiness. It’s been Bucky’s goal to get Tony to smile _that smile_  since the very first time he saw it.

“Excellent,” Tony says cheerfully. “It’s a date.”

“Mm,” Bucky smiles, reaching out to brush his fingers across Tony’s cheek, thumb at the corner of his mouth. “This smile is my favorite,” he tells him, and delights in the blush that garners.

“What’s so great about this smile?” he muses, looking baffled. “It’s just a smile.”

“Nah,” Bucky denies, brushing his hand along Tony’s jaw and down to cup the side of his neck, pressing his thumb lightly against the pulse point. “This smile is brighter than all the others.”

“Ah,” Tony gulps, reaching up to wrap his hand around Bucky’s wrist, stroking his thumb along the veins on the inside. “You’re a flatterer, I should have known.”

Bucky grins, bringing his other hand up to grip Tony’s chin between his thumb and index finger. “Can’t a man tell his fella how gorgeous he is and how much he likes his fella’s smile?” He tilts Tony’s chin up and fits his mouth over Tony’s before he can answer.

Tony makes a soft, startled sound, and his hands come up to thread through Bucky’s still-wet hair. Bucky hums, tilting his head a little, and drops the hand gripping Tony’s chin to wrap around Tony’s back, fitting it against the small of his back and pulling Tony’s body against his. Tony sighs, parting his lips and teasing his tongue along the seam of Bucky’s.

He opens his mouth, deepening the kiss and reveling in the feel of Tony’s beard against his face, the sweet little noises he draws from Tony as he strokes his tongue along Tony’s. This kiss is by far much better than their first, and not just because nobody is drunk. It’s _perfect_ , and Bucky loses himself in it.

Eventually, of course, they need to break for air. Bucky doesn’t feel much like stopping, though, trailing kisses along Tony’s jaw and down the side of his neck. Tony groans quietly, tilting his head to give Bucky access. He grins against the delicate skin, nibbling lightly before moving on to a spot he knows can be easily covered and sucking a bruise into the flesh beneath his mouth.

Tony gasps, shudders against him, his fingers tightening in Bucky’s hair, and arches into it. “That better be a place I can hide that, James,” he murmurs lowly, his voice cracking halfway through.

“Mmhmm,” Bucky hums, licking over the fresh hickey before trailing kisses back up his throat. “Wouldn’t mark you somewhere visible without your permission, doll.”

“Jesus,” Tony mutters, pulling Bucky’s mouth back to his. “You know you slip into that Brooklyn drawl when you say shit like that?”

“Does it do something for ya?” Bucky asks, finally pulling away enough to gaze at Tony’s flushed face.

“Oddly, yes,” Tony admits, massaging his fingers into Bucky’s scalp and grinning when Bucky shudders and groans. “Ohh, nice.”

“Feels good,” he agrees, wrapping his arms around Tony’s waist and letting his head drop, tucking his face into Tony’s neck.

“Good,” Tony chuckles, keeping it up. “I’ll have to give you an actual massage sometime.”

Bucky groans, squeezing Tony a bit. “You’re gonna kill me, doll.”

“I would never, honey,” Tony protests, pulling his fingers from Bucky’s hair and sweeping his hands down Bucky’s back. “I like you too much.”

“Well that’s good,” Bucky laughs, pressing a kiss to Tony’s collarbone.

“Mm,” Tony hums.

“So what’s at the museum?”

“Hm? Oh, the usual I guess,” Tony admits, sounding sheepish. “It was the first thing that popped into my head, when I was thinking of other places we could go on dates. I didn’t really think you’d be too enthused about fancy restaurants or red carpet events.”

“Not so much,” Bucky agrees with an amused snort. “I like the museum idea. What about car shows? I know you like cars, and _I_  like cars, even if you haven’t given me a flying car yet.”

“Huh, that’d be fun,” Tony murmurs thoughtfully. “I’ll have JARVIS check for local car shows or events.”

“One day I’m gonna take you to Coney Island,” Bucky decides, thinking about the Cyclone and the time he’d dragged Steve on it once upon a time.

Tony snorts. “We’ll see,” he says, fond, and presses a kiss to the side of Bucky’s head.

Bucky hugs him tighter. “You’re perfect,” he whispers, “absolutely perfect.”

* * *

_~fin~_

 


End file.
